One Bottle
by LaDyFiCtIoN
Summary: Boris knows how painful the past can be. After all, he was sold to the Abbey for one bottle of vodka. [[YuBo WAVE!2]] Part 2 of 2.


**YuBo WAVE!2**

Entry # 9.

This story comes in two individual parts. Please refer to **Entry **#8 to understand the denouement and ending. Thanks. ****

Disclaimer: Nothing.

-One Bottle- 

She was drunk. Her feet were slipping in the slush and the people all around her moved out of the way. She stumbled and fell into a man to her left. He was startled. She simply jerked away and glared at him. The smudged makeup beneath her eyes did nothing for her face. Her lipstick had smeared across her cheek. He immediately smelled the liquor in her breath as she abruptly yelled at him.

''You lecherous pervert! Don't touch me!''

She caused a ruckus, or at least tried too, but no one paid any attention to her; they kept walking and avoiding her, like always. There was vomit on her collar and on her breath. The man hurried away. She fumbled forward and her heels slid on the ice. Her legs gave out and she crashed into the black snow of the sidewalk.

She looked up to the stormy sky and felt dizzy.

Tears dripped from her eyes as ivory flakes began to fall from the dark clouds. People stepped around her, as she sat there, defeated. Her thrift jacket was holey and all of its buttons were missing. It was untied and slid down her arms, as it pooled all around her.

She shivered.

Her shirt was ripped and filthy. Her black, short skirt soaked up the water beneath her, as her bare legs froze. She and had broken a heel and angrily threw it into the crowds. The alcohol was drying up in her system. She could see straight again. Her head began to pound. She needed something, anything, alcohol or even money. But no one would give her money.

They all knew better.

''I would give up my own son for a bottle of vodka!'' The sober woman, desperate to get drunk, yelled out to the people.

But no one was listening…

No one, except…him…

He strolled over to the woman and offered her his hand.

''What did you say just now, miss?'' He asked.

She looked up to the man and smiled.

''I'd sell my son for a bottle of vodka.'' She repeated herself.

The man was smiling as well.

She wandered home, later that night, with three men in toe. She took them to an abandoned house and called it home. There was nothing silence and cracking footsteps inside…

Until, she led them to the supposed living room. There were a few old chairs, gathered in a corner and a filthy couch, in the middle of the dilapidated room. She lingered behind and the man walked over tentatively. He looked down onto the soiled cushions and saw a little boy, lying there.

He could only be about seven or eight at the most. She had lost track. The man crouched down and his large white palm pressed against the child's head. The boy stirred and looked upwards, with pale moonlight eyes.

''I'll talk him.'' He spoke and the other men moved to his sides.

The first picked up the boy and the other took out a blanket from his coat.

The child's eyes immediately filled with fear. He began to trash and kick and scream. They had been prepared for this. In a fast, frightful moment, he was subdued. The man walked away and laughed.

''Feisty, isn't he?''

The boy's mother laughed as well.

''What is his name?'' He glanced to the child, wrapped in the thick, woolen blanket.

''He's Boris. Kuznetsov, Boris.''

Boris, through groggy eyes, slowly shutting, looked upon his mother with confusion.

''Just as we agreed.'' The man was smiling again as he pulled out a clear bottle, labeled to her preference, from his jade trench coat.

The mother quickly snatched away the alcohol and hurried out of the room, with the largest possible bottle, in hand.

Boris did not understand.

Where was mommy going?

Had she just…traded him for a bottle of vodka?

He never saw her again. 

''All I remember…is her walking away with that bottle…'' Boris said, in a bothered whisper, as he finished his story.

Yuriy remained silent but his eyes glanced to Boris and watched him carefully.

''Balcov told me that I was sold…'' 

The story, just as his was, was so simple. Boris too rested with the burden of confusion.

Despite the few words they spoke, Yuriy was thankful.

The anniversary of his solitude did not feel as lonely anymore.

''Thank you, Boris…for listening…and telling me your story.''

The tears of his sorrow had long dried and he sat there, with his new friend, who seemed to understand his pain, until Balcov came and ruined his life.

**-EndE-**

I know, that's not really a yaoi story, but I thought it was quite touching. When you're a big, obsessive fan like me, the simple concept of Boris trying to relate to Yuriy is enough to know that they share a connection that would most likely develop, into a strong friendship, or something even more, when they leave the Abbey.

Thanks.


End file.
